The Last Year of Being Single (22 page)

ACTION LIST

To dump John.

To dump Paul.

To have fun.

To spend more time with friends.

BEST FRIEND

1st August

Hot and sticky month. Humid. No rain. When I am with John it makes the moments more intense and surreal because of the heat and the physical as well as emotional need to be naked with him. We get more adventurous. More opportunity for al fresco sex and we are taking more risks. Being seen in pubs together. Skirts ever more short and wearing red, which have never done in life. Was eternally dressed in beige and brown and green. Now it’s red and purple and bright colours and semi-transparent stuff. Paul
thinks I look sexy these days and says he’s lucky to be marrying such a lovely girl. Which makes me feel sad, coz it’s not for him and not because of him that I look and feel good. I think if it wasn’t for John I wouldn’t be feeling or looking this good. I would be miserable. Which makes me think again that I’m doing the wrong thing and should call the wedding off.

With Paul I now don’t undress. But we hug a lot. I must look up in a dictionary the difference between love and being in love and being in lust. Is there one? Is love when you feel more pain being away from them than the pain you can feel being with them? Is that it? I don’t want to read any more women’s magazines. They are all full of crappy commentary about why men do things and why women do things and why we are from different planets or universes and why we can’t communicate. And how love means different things. And how men can’t be faithful and women are born to be. And I know women who aren’t and men who are. And I think I’ve found one of the rare ones who is, and know I’m playing about with one who hasn’t been. And may not still be. I seem to be having these commentaries with myself a lot these days.

Mornings are best for text messaging.

2nd August

Fitting for wedding dress today. Catherine is having green. Looks stunning with her dark long straight hair. I’m having cream, but as I’m losing weight (a pound a day on average) I may have to have it taken in a few sizes. The dressmaker is cross. She speaks her mind.

Dressmaker—‘What the fuck have yer done, Sarah? Yer skin and bone now. Put weight on. I usually get the brides who’re pregnant and I have to keep adding more and more, but you’re the reverse. You OK, girl?’

Sarah—‘I’m fine.’

Dressmaker (Tracey) works from her own studio in
Colchester. Does the meringue dresses but has made something sleek for me, says at the moment I will indeed resemble a blind-man’s stick if I don’t put more weight on. I asked for no frills, just simple lace on cuffs and cleavage.

Tracey—‘You’ve got no boobs, Sarah. What’s ’appened to your boobs. And no bum either. I’ll ’ave to put a bustle on you. This looks ridiculous. And for goodness’ sake eat some cake while you’re there.’

Sarah—‘I will, I will.’

Tracey—‘Well, you better, or your bridesmaid will look better than you and you don’t want that on yer wedding day—do yer?’

Sarah—‘No. Thank you.’

I feel like shit. But she’s right.

3rd August

I have to talk about the situation to someone. I’ve got to cancel the wedding. This is getting ridiculous. But I can’t get through to Jenny and Anya’s fully booked up. So call Catherine.

Sarah—‘Catherine, are you about tonight?’

Catherine—‘Think so. Why?’

Sarah—‘Need to talk.’

Catherine—‘OK. About John?’

Sarah—‘Yes.’

Catherine—‘Wheelers at six?’

Sarah—‘Done.’

Meet at six. For once I’m on time. I’m never on time. But I am this evening. We find a quiet table in the corner. Order a bottle of Chardonnay and two salads. Niçoise and Greek. And talk.

Sarah—‘I don’t know how I got myself into this situation, Catherine. I loved Paul. He was all that I wanted. I knew from the moment I met him—well, almost from the moment I
met him—that he was the one. But now I think back there has always been someone else in my life when I’ve known him. Someone else there to compensate when he had something missing. Like the sex, or the caring, or the support I needed. Somehow he didn’t give everything and I felt I had to change myself into what he wanted at different times.

‘I feel as though I’m holding my breath. And it’s been five years now, and that’s a long time to try to be someone you’re not. Or try to become something you’re not. I thought I’d evolve into what he wanted. The little wifey at home. But I’m not, Catherine. That’s not me. Perhaps I don’t know what is yet. But I can’t help thinking I want to live a little. Travel a lot. Meet a lot more men. Have more relationships before this. I’ve met him at the wrong time, perhaps. Don’t know. Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven’t. But I have a gut feeling that I’m doing the wrong thing. For Christ’s sake, I’m fucking someone else and it’s a month to my wedding day. Surely that’s not right? Not to say not ethical?’

Catherine—‘I’ve known you for a long time. I know Paul. I don’t know John. So it’s not fair of me to comment on John. Gut instinct is you’re doing the right thing by marrying Paul. Yes, there are problems but you’ve known from the start he is the one for you. Don’t throw that away.’

Sarah—‘But aren’t you throwing it away with Freddie?’

Catherine—‘Perhaps. But that’s my choice and this is yours. And I think you should stick with Paul. John, although he makes you happy, sounds like a lust thing. Just a fling. Forbidden fruit. Sarah, you want to have your wedding cake and eat it as well. And you can’t. Men can, but women can’t. It’s double standards in this game. You know it is. And it is a game, whatever people say. Dump John. Make an excuse, any excuse, but dump him. I know it’s exciting, but you’ve got to find out if he’s your emotional crutch and take the jump. Not saying I could do it. Don’t
think I could. But you’re a risk-taker, Sarah. Your cliff-edge is way past most people’s and you need to decide which way to go. And do it now. Before it’s too late.’

I tell her about Guy at the wedding. Miss out bit about anal sex.

Catherine—‘Guy is right, but he doesn’t know the good side of Paul, nor all about you. Stick with Paul. He will come round. Perhaps you can get him to see a counsellor. Perhaps. I’ve got to go now.’ (Looking at watch and realising we’ve been talking for over three hours. Most of the time, she’s been listening.) ‘Got to go. We can talk more at your hen party.’

12th August

Catherine has organised my hen party. Belfry. Ten to go. Same as birthday bash. One difference. They can all get drunk. Stag parties surrounding us. We are a group of ten girls amongst a sea of black-tied handsome hunks. Nice. I make a goodie bag for every girl. Containing condoms and chocolate Maltesers and cotton buds and tweezers and edible knickers and Alka Seltzer. Basically everything a girl needs on a hen party night. No one got me a stripper, but that was fine. There were plenty of men who were prepared to take their clothes off. I got drunk, but not honesty drunk. Rang John from my room at two a.m. and told him I loved him and why I loved him and told him I was at my friend’s hen party and he told me I would never get married because I was too independent and I said I might do and that he didn’t know me well enough and he said he did.

And I said nothing. Blew him a kiss. Seduced him in my drunken slur over the phone and clicked off at four a.m. Think I ordered Room Service and opened the door naked to a young waiter with two salade niçoises and no dressing or dough balls and extra tuna. I’m not sure, but think I did.
Anyway, there were no complaints in the morning. But there were two empty trays at the end of my bed, so perhaps I did.

Facial at nine a.m. Followed by salt rub and full body massage. Light lunch of lettuce leaves and seared tuna, followed by kai bo, then yoga and Pilates and then home. We had toxified and detoxified. Catherine and Colleen had pulled men. Claire had pulled a muscle dancing too aerobically, and Helen had disappeared with the best man from a stag party. Despite being married with child. Lots of flirty harmless fun.

13th August

Driving back from Belfry with Catherine. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

Sarah—‘Everyone seems to have enjoyed themselves.’

Catherine—‘Yeah, did you?’

Sarah—‘Yes.’

Catherine—‘I think I told two guys about Liam and how I lusted after him and all the things I want to do with him.’

Sarah—‘Oh? What did they say?’

Catherine—‘They gave me their cards and said that if I ever got bored with him to call them. Both of them.’

Sarah—‘Sounds as though you told them a lot.’

Catherine—‘Can’t remember. Wish I could. Perhaps I should just tape myself. Sure I come out with better chat-up lines when I’m pissed than when sober.’

19th August

Paul’s stag party in Ireland. He invited ten and they played golf and I think there was a stripper and he snogged a girl on the dance floor but I think that was it. I wasn’t really interested. I wasn’t really there at all during August. I was in another place. My mind was in tur
moil about making decisions and living lies. But which life was a lie?

Catherine, my best friend, was in a turmoil too. Liam had said that he didn’t want to see her any more. Freddie, her boyfriend, wanted her to move to Richmond with him. She didn’t want to go but she didn’t want to stay. I suggested she move with Freddie and take a risk. He has been there for her for over seven years, so why not try? She said she wanted Liam, so stayed, and Freddie went to Richmond and met someone else. He didn’t tell Catherine. But Catherine knew. Used packets of condoms in the bedroom. Perfume bottles in the bathroom, shepherd’s pie dishes in the kitchen. Freddie told her it was the cleaner. She knew better. But didn’t care then. She was in lust and in love with Liam. Who didn’t want her. I didn’t want to make the same mistake. I didn’t want to lose Paul.

So…

20th August

Have invited Catherine and Karen round for Witches of Essex session, watching
Witches of Eastwick
on DVD. Bagsy me be Michelle Pfeiffer. Catherine—Cher. Karen—Sarandon. We got cherries, just like in the movie. Big bowl. Cost about forty quid but worth it. And sat. Paul still away with his mates.

Karen—‘Are you excited about the big day?’

Sarah—‘Yes. Bit dazed, actually.’

Karen—‘Thought you would be excited. I suppose it’s been a long lead-up.’

Sarah—‘Yeah. Suppose so. But it will all be over in two weeks.’

Catherine—‘Everything’s organised, then?’

Sarah—‘Yes.’

Catherine—‘Have you dealt with
everything
?’ (Looking at me knowingly.)

Sarah—(lying)—‘Yes.’ (Looking at her knowingly.)

Catherine—‘Good. All for the best. Group hug.’

We sat and watched Jack Nicholson expound his wisdom on why divorced, deserted or widowed women are the sexiest, most powerful women on earth because they don’t have men in their lives. And how men wake up with their wives and girlfriends and wonder where the spirited women they married have gone and they don’t realise that they’re the wankers who’ve killed them. We all nodded in agreement. Then giggled, because, hey, I was getting married in two weeks’ time.

We then watch
Dangerous Liaisons
, with Michelle again. She’s being told that men can only feel the love they receive and women can only feel the love they give, so any relationship based solely on love is doomed to failure. And we cry when Michelle dies of a broken heart and probably the myriad leeches all over her body.

Paul returns to a group of girlies who look at him as though he’s stabbed their mothers.

22nd August

I ignore all John’s text messages. I ignore his phone calls. I say I’m busy on a course. I can’t see him before the wedding. I will just have to let it ride. He won’t find out about the wedding. I will just come back from holiday and say I want to finish the relationship and everything will be fine. Come back with a tan, completely loved up with Paul, and everything will be fine and John’s pheromones won’t work on me any more. That’s the way it will be. So I ignore the messages.

I give in.

Drink? Last time I will see him and he will not look at me with utter contempt in his eyes? OK. Will meet. Six p.m. at Hylands Park on Sunday.

23rd August

Want to cancel meeting on Sunday. But don’t do anything about it.

Have to collect cake, make arrangements for flowers and chef and catering and make sure still fit into wedding dress. Dressmaker furious as am now size six. John texts.